But occasionally, a song will crop up that reminds us, “Hey! Women are beautiful and awesome and deserving of being on the receiving end of attention/pleasure sometimes — let’s celebrate that!”
If you don’t like Bob Marley & The Wailers, or this song, then I don’t like you. That is all.
Last night a DJ saved my life.
Look, kids in the suburbs. I get it. There’s not a whole lot to do other than invent new ways to get messed up. I was a teenage “rebel” once. My sister and her friends used to pound Red Bull and have “hyper parties.” I had a guy friend who used to try and smoke banana peels. One time, I attempted to get drunk off my dad’s O’Douls.
His eleventh studio album, Write Me Back, is due next month (and I mean that’s fantastic because this homage was happening either way; at least now it can happen under the guise of relevance). Now’s a good a time as any to brush up on the eclectic, puzzling, oft-straight-up-questionable catalog of Kelz.
Back in 1984 while repeatedly listening to “The Message” by Grand Master Flash and the Furious Five, I contracted an incurable disease. Rapilepsy.
Taraka and Nimai Larson can’t wait to meet you. Most artists will hide behind a shield of press contacts and merchandise movers, but Taraka and Nimai do everything themselves…
The question is, what if Lil’ Wayne were reincarnated as a basketball player? Who would he be? Answer, in case you’re wondering, is Marquis Daniels. Here are some other projections. Feel free to chime in with suggestions.
My favorite album is probably Pinkerton by Weezer, but I’d rather eat a cardigan for breakfast every day of my life than walk around with a tattoo of that artwork like the poster child for shorthand hipsterism. My grandfather never taught me to draw anything. He did teach me: “Slow down when you’re taking that turn!” That’s not exactly something I want to commit to my flesh forever.
You learn the procedures, you become familiar with how the different coffee tastes and what it mixes well with. It’s not some magical set of spells and incantations that you learn over high-moon ceremonies as you sacrifice a chicken with your shift manager–it’s making god damn espresso.